


The Lord and the Selkie

by Roccolinde



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Selkie AU, fairytale AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 07:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde
Summary: On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle, Lord Tywin, had three children: The Golden Lion, Ser Jaime, was brave; his twin The Beautiful Maid, Lady Cersei, was cunning; and The Unwanted One, Lord Tyrion, was learned. Together, they might have come to rule Westeros as their Lord Father intended, a final wish made from his deathbed. But then Ser Jaime met the selkie, and their paths were forever altered.





	The Lord and the Selkie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deedeeinfj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deedeeinfj/gifts).

> I was going to save this story for JB Week, but then I realised that it’s the birthday of a dear friend, and nothing says “Happy birthday, I’m glad you’re in my life” like fic in a fandom you aren’t even reading and never asked for. But the sentiment is sincere, at least.  
With undying thanks to @bethanyactually, who got a copy of this fic and managed to beta it even though it was a MESS that should have been better checked before passing it on. 
> 
> I wrote this story and was very much “I hope my changes to selkie folklore aren’t too confusing for people” only to be greeted with a lot of “What are selkies? Why would a sword burn?” and so on. Sooooo, going to call that a misjudgment on the prevalence of fae folklore in most quarters.The crashiest of crash courses, then, and I’ll spare you the tangents of what events likely led to the creation of these myths. Even if they are really cool.  
Selkies are fae creatures of the sea, who take can take the form of seals or humans through the donning or shedding of their sealskin coat. They are often portrayed as a gentler type of fairy, honest and not as inclined to trickery as other fairy types. Whoever wields a selkie’s coat can compel them to do what they like, and there are many tales of selkie women who are forced into marriage, their coats hidden, and when they find their coat once more they are compelled to return to the sea. It is as much of a compulsion as the wedding, and they will leave their lives and children behind in pursuit of it. There are fewer tales of selkie men, who are sometimes said to only be able to come on land once, and must be back in the sea before sunrise or they will perish. Like many supernatural creatures, selkies are unable to touch iron without being burnt.  
I’ve made some basic alterations to the selkie lore in this story, mostly in inconsequential details (the children of selkies in human form having webbed digits, eye colour, etc), but the big one is that I have changed the rules for selkie men--in this story, they can come ashore three times and can return to any water, but if they are away from the sea for a full year they will die. I’m also given Brienne some vague fae powers, and am presuming Valyrian weapons in this story are not made with iron.
> 
> Oh, and Tyrion makes a dick joke. Let’s presume fairytale Westeros has the same wit=dick as Elizabethan England.

_On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle, Lord Tywin, had three children: The Golden Lion, Ser Jaime, was brave; his twin The Beautiful Maid, Lady Cersei, was cunning; and The Unwanted One, Lord Tyrion, was learned. Together, they might have come to rule Westeros as their Lord Father intended, a final wish made from his deathbed. But then Ser Jaime met the selkie, and their paths were forever altered. _

*****

** __ ** _On the east coast of Westeros, there was a seal lord whose waters were small and unimportant, save in beauty. Lord Selwyn had two children: his elder child, Galladon, was beautiful and strong and true, a warrior and a leader both; his younger child, Brienne, was all those things as well--beautiful in the eyes of her father, strong of body and mind and virtue, and the truest in the ways of love--but far less beloved by her subjects. Now, it came to pass that Galladon loved a woman from the land, and followed her onto the shore, never to return. His sister sought him in waters dark and deep, in waters shallow and warm, north and south and east, until all that was left was the west. And so she went, true of heart even as her spirit despaired, and found herself upon the beaches near Casterly Rock. _

*

Ser Jaime was in his father's solar when the guard, a distant cousin who had once played with the children of Casterly Rock before childbirth had taken its lady and grief had descended upon its lonely stone walls, arrived. 

"Well met, Ser Addam," The Golden Lion greeted him. "What brings you here this day, and at such an hour? It must be of some import, for the evening meal has been had, my fair sister has retired to her quarters as she has these past moons, and my brother pores over histories by candlelight."

"A peculiar sight, ser,” said the guarding cousin. “A man walks upon the beaches near Casterly, singing a lament to the sea."

"And does this man wish harm?" 

"He flees when any draw close, ser, but returns at the next sunset."

"And for how long has this spectre haunted our shores, Ser Addam?" 

"A sennight, and then a sennight more."

"Then I will go to him, and learn what has drawn him here."

And, grabbing his cloak and his sword, Ser Jaime did. 

The moon was full and bright as he descended the secret stairs that led down the sheer cliff face to the beach below. He heard the mysterious visitor before he saw him, his haunting, indefinable words carrying across the empty sand. The visitor's voice was neither high nor low, but carried such a sweet grief that Jaime found he wished to weep at the beauty. 

As he drew near to the figure he realised that it was not a man at all, but a woman. A tall woman with a broad frame, but a woman all the same.

_Pardon, good lady_, a noble man might have said; but though Ser Jaime was wise in chivalry, he was foolish in the ways of sense, and so exclaimed with some surprise, “The ghost of Casterly is a woman?”

She turned, and even in moonlight Jaime could see that though her features were plain, she had the bluest eyes he’d ever known. They were as clear and blue as the sea: not the color of the waters of Casterly, lingering in the last vestiges of sunlight, but the pure blue he’d seen once before, when he’d travelled beyond the sight of land.

“I am no ghost,” she said, “and am hardly a woman.”

“You are woman enough,” he said, his eyes roaming over her. “Though I’m not certain how I can tell.”

She drew to her full height--taller than he--and her eyes flashed like the storming gales that tore ships apart to sink them below the waves. A woman, yes, but one with the fury of the elements in her, with a regality that his dear sister strove to echo.

“Be gone,” the woman commanded.

Ser Jaime smiled insolently. 

“I don’t believe I will,” he said, “for Casterly Rock is in my care, and I will know why you come night after night and sing such a song.”

The command had gone from her as quickly as it had come in the face of his proclamation, and there was a flush to her cheeks as she looked to the sand.

“I seek my brother, my lord,” she said, “and I beg you leave to return until I have found him or resigned myself that he is truly lost.” 

“And why would a missing man find himself upon a beach and not elsewhere?”

“It matters not why, just that it is so.”

“You intrigue me, my lady.”

“Brienne.”

“Pardon?”

“My name, it is Brienne. There is no need to call me a lady, for I hardly resemble one.”

His own words had barbed at her so, but he found no joy in her resigned tone. She was enormous, yes, and would be found less than his sister by any reckoning of beauty save her astonishing eyes, but her palpable grief for her lost brother did her much credit, and there was a strength of unbendable steel in the lines of her body.

“Be that as it may, my lady, I believe I shall. Now, as for your brother, might I ask _his_ name, so that I may inquire as to his whereabouts? I would be a poor lord indeed if I failed such a courtesy.”

“You may ask, but I will not answer,” she said. “If you will excuse me, I must take my leave.”

She bowed to him as a man might have, and strode away, her voice once more rising above the waves as she sang. Jaime watched her leave, intrigued by the strange woman and her plaintive songs, and vowed he would return.

And so he did. Night after night, even as his father slipped further towards his final meeting with the Stranger. On the third evening she told him her brother was named Galladon; on the fifth that he had been gone for eleven moons and she despaired of finding him before the twelfth moon had come and gone. The free moments of his days became consumed with finding the missing man, and his nights with Brienne. 

“It is strange, dear brother,” Cersei said one evening as they supped, “but I feel you care little for the Rock of late.”

“And it is strange, dear sister, that you might think so when you hardly leave your chambers save to dine.”

But, in truth, Jaime did care little for Casterly Rock, or the Casterly Rock of his sister’s estimations. For he found that as he sought the absent Galladon, he came to know his subjects better, and was better able to render them such aid as was in his purview. He came to desire Lady Brienne’s company, for she was good-hearted and determined, and, to his immense surprise, adept with a sword, though she would only spar with wooden ones. He came to spend more time with his learned brother, for Tyrion knew things not simply read in books. No, the value of Casterly Rock was not found in gold as his father had always claimed, and Ser Jaime found that he preferred sapphires to rubies and emeralds.

And so it continued for nearly a moon, and might have continued indefinitely had he not set his sword aside one evening. He was halfway home when he realised it was not at his waist, and he returned to the quiet cove where he and Brienne had sparred as they discussed the search for Galladon. 

Water lapping at her feet, her skin bathed in moonlight, Brienne stood naked at the water’s edge. _She is almost beautiful_, Jaime thought, though very little had changed in essentials. And then she took something from behind a rock and cast it over her shoulders as she walked into the sea--Jaime moved forward, as if to keep her from discarding her life in despair, only to watch as she transformed into a seal before his eyes. The bulk that was so hindering on land made her cut through the water with an assurance that was beautiful to watch, and Jaime stood, frozen, as she returned to the sea. 

Just as she reached the edge of his sight, she paused and turned back towards the shore, and Jaime would have sworn that even her sealskin could blush. 

*

Brienne watched the lord’s fair son from the water, the pinks and golds of the setting sun playing across the waves and the sand, until it hardly seemed she could tell land from sea. Casterly Rock was her last hope in search of Galladon. Selkie men were not so strong as their women, the rules that bound them different. Galladon might only come ashore three times, seeking the water before the sun rose; to stay past sunrise or to stay from the waters of the sea for a full year meant death. With only days left, she had no time to spare. But she was still a selkie, and a selkie must obey those who possessed their skin. She had come to like Ser Jaime, for he kept his word and ruled his lands with kindness even as he mourned his passing father. But she knew that even a selkie such as she was desirable enough to wed in pursuit of power; she could not come ashore when he was there.

For three evenings he came to the place where they would meet. The first evening he waited in silent stillness, and on the second he paced the water’s edge. On the third, he abandoned his leather boots on the sand and stepped into the cold water, wading to his waist.

“Lady Brienne! I will do you no harm,” he called. 

She wished, so dearly, to believe him. 

Then he unfastened the sword from around his waist and set it into the water, raised his hands, and returned to the land. “For your defense, my lady. A Valyrian weapon, it will not burn.”

And so she came ashore, his belt at her waist and his sword in her hand.

“My mother spoke of selkies, when I was small,” he said, reclining against a rock. “I did not expect to find one so close to home.”

“I will wed no man who does not win my sealskin fairly,” she said, her head held high. “By means of love or by means of battle, but to win it by trickery… I would merely walk into the water in human form and drown rather than obey.”

“And I will not wed a woman who does not want me, my lady, so I do believe your virtue is safe,” he replied, and flashed her a smile so warm and golden that she began to understand why so many selkie maidens met their doom in shallow waters. “But come, we must speak of your brother.”

They did. Brienne explained how her brother’s love had been caught by a young maid with golden hair and coral lips, with pearls for teeth and eyes as deep and dark as the most secret corners of the sea.

“They would pale in light of yours,” Ser Jaime said.

“That is not how to win my skin,” Brienne replied.

“I have told you, I have no designs on your skin. And I am strong enough to win it fairly if I did.”

Brienne snorted despite herself, raising the sword he’d given her. 

“You said you would do me no harm.”

“And I will not, my lady. Now come, tell me more of your brother, for I feel recent revelations mean there is more to tell.”

“He loved this fair maiden. He came upon the shore once to woo her, and once to wed her, and never returned. Whatever waters he returned to, they are not of the sea, and if he does not return before the next moon he will not survive.”

“You are certain he has not returned to the sea?”

“I am,” she said, “for the sea tells me so.”

“And you are certain he is alive?”

“No,” she said, “but I cannot relinquish hope.” 

“I would arm you and armour you, if I knew how best to do so,” he said. “Alas, you must do with my aid instead. My learned brother might know how to find your Galladon.”

And so they stole from the beach and made their way towards Casterly Rock, Brienne’s sealskin held carefully in her hands. 

* 

Ser Jaime found his brother in the library, bent over books as he often was. The dwarf looked at them both with keenness in his mismatched eyes.

“You are not from here, my lady, for I know all the noble maidens in the Westerlands and beyond.”

Brienne blushed and ducked her head, but her voice was steady and true as she replied, “I have travelled far, my lord.”

Tyrion laughed loudly. “Come, you must call me Tyrion if you are to be my good-sister.”

“And you may call me Brienne, though I have no intention of being your good-sister.”

“Is that not a selkie’s cloak, Brienne? And my brother’s sword in your hand?”

“That does not mean we will wed.”

Tyrion laughed again, and Jaime gave him a warning look. 

“Brother…”

“Oh no, of course, my noble brother would never dream of such a thing. Tell me, Brienne, do you know how to wield the sword you hold so well?”

“She searches for her brother and time is short,” Ser Jaime said. “As strange as it might seem, some people would miss their absent siblings rather than rejoice.”

Tyrion paid no heed to the rebuke. “Is that the best you can muster, brother dearest? For Cersei has been quite content to tell me how she will feed me to her lioness if I continue to provoke her.” With that, Tyrion turned his attention to Brienne and gave a self-deprecating bow. “As I provoke her merely by existing, I fear one day she might actually do so, though I could not be more than a mere morsel for the beast.”

The selkie’s laughter was loud and strange, more fitting for a seal than a woman, and yet Ser Jaime found it charming all the same. 

“We have come for knowledge, Tyrion, not your wit.”

“And such a wit have I,” came his ribald reply, complete with gesture indicating the size of his _wit_. “But come, Brienne, tell me of your troubles.”

And so Brienne did, laying forth all the details a man might need to find the solution to their ills. Jaime watched her speak, for she was honest and true and compelling despite her deficiencies, and as she spoke her fingers traced nervous shapes against her sealskin. She was such a contradiction, a curiosity that Jaime could not comprehend. But he knew her heart to be true, and when she had told her tale he turned to his brother with expectant eyes. 

“In all your reading of monsters and men, have you learnt anything that will help us find Galladon?”

Tyrion started at the question. 

“I know not from my reading, brother dear, but I knew a Galladon. Tall and fair of face, he loved the chambermaid Alysanne dearly,” Tyrion said. “But I have seen hide nor hair--apologies, Brienne--for nearly a year, of him nor his charming chambermaid.”

“Thank you all the same,” Brienne said. “I will renew my search, for now I have hope at least.”

“There is one more thing,” Tyrion said as they made to leave. “Our dear sister asked me of selkies once--how one may win a selkie’s coat, what waters they must return to. I know not why, but she has never been curious before or since. That was, as I recall, near the same time.”

“Cersei would not…” but even as he said it, Jaime knew all too well that she would. His sister was cunning, and ruthless, never content to rule a castle when she could rule a land, a land when she could rule a kingdom, a kingdom when she could rule the world. Her ambition gave no care for others; if a selkie skin she sought, a selkie skin she would find. 

But for all her cunning, Ser Jaime knew his twin well, for they had been inseparable for many years, until her lust for power had made the distance between them grow. 

“There is a lake, deep in the caverns of Casterly Rock,” he said. “We played there as children. If Cersei has your brother, it will be there. The way is treacherous, my lady, but I can lead you true. This I vow to you.”

The selkie stood at the door and looked at him, formidable in her judgement. Then she gave a small nod.

“This vow I do accept, Ser Jaime.”

“Then we must prepare.”

*

A second Valyrian sword, twin to the first, was secured, and a small pack with flint and water and rope, and enough space for Brienne’s sealskin. The way to the lake was treacherous indeed; there was a tunnel hidden behind a small door, barely wide enough to fit their frames, deep within the castle. Torches lit the corridor that went deep into the bowels of the Rock, the pale light flickering uncertainly. But still they pushed on, down and down until Brienne could sense the water captured in the stones and dirt, cool and welcoming her home. As they reached an enormous wooden door, barred by iron, the lights were extinguished all at once by a roaring wind whipping through the tunnel.

_Return or face a mighty beast_, it whispered. 

“Cersei,” Ser Jaime said. “I would know her voice anywhere. My lady, you must retrieve the flint. I will not touch the bag that holds your skin.”

“Lift your sword, ser,” Brienne said instead, doing as she instructed. 

The two Valyrian blades began to glow a gentle blue, like the light beneath the sea on a sunny day, and for the briefest moment there was a look of wonderment on the man’s handsome features.

“It will glow for so long as you hold it, if I still draw breath,” she said, and nodded towards the door. “The bar, it is iron. You must lift it.”

He did with ease, setting the bar aside. From the other side of the door there came a ferocious roar. 

“A mighty beast,” Brienne said, remembering the wind’s words.

“A lioness,” Ser Jaime replied. “I had wondered where she’d put the creature.”

“And there is no other way?”

“There is a route that leads from the sea, but I’ve no doubt she has defended that as well.”

Brienne nodded once, shifting the sword and her stance in preparation. She had not fought such an animal before, but she must for Galladon’s sake.

“The sword, Ser Jaime,” she said. “Lift it high so that I may see, and do not interfere.”

And then she was through the door, ready to do battle. She struck and parried, moved with the fluidity of the seas, as relentless as the waves eroding the shore, but the beast was strong and fast. The big cat prowled outside the reach of Brienne’s weapon, eyes emerald green even in the fae light, leaping and slashing and turning at the last moment so Brienne’s sword did not strike true. She fought until her muscles ached and sweat blurred her vision, until the sword grew heavy in her hand. And then she stumbled, just for an instant, and felt the lioness’s claws against her. 

From her left there came a blur of light and the big cat yowled; the glowing blue of a second sword in her periphery made her realise that Ser Jaime was at her side, and together they fought the beast until it was defeated. 

The beast dead at their feet, the pair cast their eyes around the cavern. A second door barred with iron was on the far end.

“You bleed, my lady,” said Ser Jaime, and taking the waterskin from the pack and a strip of his own doublet, he washed and bound her wounds before moving to unbar the second door.

The second cavern appeared much the same as the last, with a door on the far side. It appeared empty, but as they stepped through the door, Ser Jaime in the lead, there was a roaring howl and it slammed shut behind them.

_Lose what you value most_, spoke the wind, louder than before, and beside her Ser Jaime screamed. Brienne turned to see him clutching his arm, a bloody stump where his right hand had been only a moment before. His sword still glowed blue, held in his left hand, the smallest of mercies.

“Ser Jaime!”

He had fallen to his knees, face pale with pain, his screams faded to whimpers. The meaning of the whispered words became horribly clear: she had done this, she had allowed Ser Jaime to accompany her and he had lost his hand for it. She fell beside him, rinsing his wound with the last of the water and binding it.

“Come, Ser Jaime,” she said. “We must continue.”

He struggled to his feet, but it was clear every step pained him greatly. Brienne could do naught but aid him, words of encouragement turning to words of chastisement even as her hands remained tender. When she tried to lift him, she found some magic kept him upon the ground, the pain screamingly bad once more. 

"Leave me," he gasped, and Brienne shook her head. 

"You promised to help me, Ser Jaime," she said, trying to hide her tears. "Are you so craven as to turn away now?" 

And so it continued through sheer force of their combined will, step by agonising step, until they reached the far wall. 

“Perhaps I ought to have valued my sister best,” he said weakly, leaning against the stone. “For we would have rid ourselves of her.”

"If you were her creature and not your own, we should not have gotten so far."

Summoning his strength, Ser Jaime lifted the iron bar that blocked the third door and Brienne stepped through it. There was no reaction, and so she turned and offered her hand to Ser Jaime. As he stepped into the third cavern, the roaring wind returned once more.

_Leave what you seek and your heart’s desire shall come instead_, it screamed, buffeting them until they stumbled forward, hands clasped together. On the other side of the wind the cavern was lit as if by daylight. 

“Jaime, my sweetling,” spoke a voice, and Brienne saw a small group of blonde people to the left--Ser Jaime’s brother she recognised, and the two women and singularly imposing man shared Ser Jaime’s golden hair and green eyes. His family. “You’ve grown so tall. Come, leave your quest, we have missed you so.”

“_Mother_,” said Ser Jaime, with a longing that could be felt. 

Before Brienne could react, a cheer erupted to their right.

“Brienne the Warrior! Brienne the Queen!” 

She turned to see the men and women of Tarth, cheering for her. She was beloved by all, as she had only dreamt. They reached as if to embrace her, and the urge to go to them was immense.

“Brienne, you are our queen. Come, leave your brother, he has no need of you.”

“No.”

“He is not your brother true,” said the voices, their words wrapping their tendrils around her. “His mother is not your mother, he has no right to rule.”

“He could be of the lowest blood and I would not leave him,” Brienne replied. “For he is an innocent, and my duty is to all.” 

As she stepped forward, she felt Ser Jaime’s hand in hers, his sword clasped between their palms, the twin blades still glowing blue. 

“You know not this Galladon,” the older woman pleaded with him. “He is not your people. Come, come to us.” 

And she extended her hand to call him closer, and Ser Jaime’s hand tightened on Brienne’s. 

“I made a vow,” he said, and continued forward.

The begging continued as they walked, rising until all Brienne could hear was the love and acceptance of those who had sought to reject her, and every time she stumbled she felt Ser Jaime’s hand in hers and persevered. And when he stumbled she held him firm until he found his feet once more, and together they crossed the cavern. A final shrieking wind whipped them as they reached the final door--Brienne could feel the water on the other side, hear her brother’s singing.

Ser Jaime lifted the last iron bar, and hand in hand they stepped through the door.

*

The cavern seemed smaller than the one of Ser Jaime’s memories. The lake he’d crossed on a wooden raft of his own devising had seemed an ocean once, and the crack above where the moonlight shone through had seemed as high as the heavens; now it seemed poor and dank, and too small for the man swimming in the lake and the weeping woman that sat along its stony edge. 

“Galladon,” breathed the selkie at his side, and she rushed towards the water. 

The man rose from the lake, laughing and crying at the arrival of his most beloved sister, and Ser Jaime felt that even the absence of his sword hand--the pain a dull ache already, a magic wound--was worth such a reunion. Then Galladon saw Ser Jaime and embraced him as well, and told his tale.

Ser Jaime’s sister had known of the love between Galladon and the chambermaid Alysanne and the difficulties before them, for he could not live on land nor she at sea, and had promised to aid them with her magic. But her heart was black and covetous, and she had desired Galladon’s sealskin for herself. She had tried to take it by charm, but Galladon’s love had been true, and when it failed she had tried to take it by force. But Alysanne the chambermaid had magic of her own, faint though it was, and Cersei could not take the skin by any means of cunning or strength. 

“And so I was to be kept here, until I conceded or died. Alysanne, my guardian and my love, has stayed with me faithfully, though I could not leave the lake.”

Galladon raised Alysanne’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against it, and there was a sadness in him that Ser Jaime did not understand, until the lady herself turned to explain.

“No magic can make a selkie skin,” she said. “Three nights we may have, and this is the third. When the sun rises, he must return to the sea. Though he may visit me upon the water’s edge, we will forever be apart.”

“Then we must leave,” Ser Jaime said, “so that you may have what few hours you may.”

Galladon gestured to the door they had arrived by, or where the door had been, for it was now a smooth stone wall.

“She has enchanted the corridors, there is but one way out,” he said. “Deep at the bottom of the lake there is a sword that can cut through stone. Your sister has placed such an enchantment upon it that only a human form may retrieve it. It is the deepest magic, and to remove it from its resting place will rend the heart from her chest. I have sought it tirelessly and failed, and I grow more and more weary.”

“Then I will retrieve it,” said Brienne, and Ser Jaime’s heart leapt at the determination on her once homely features even as he was filled with trepidation.

“There is no chance, sweet sister,” Galladon said.

“There is no _choice_,” the woman countered. “Ser Jaime, if you will hold my sword and my pack, I will do my best to retrieve the weapon, though it grieves me to harm your blood so.”

And so Ser Jaime stood, two swords and a pack clasped in his arms, and watched as the selkie woman dove deep into the water. Down and down, her shape less and less clear until she was gone from sight entirely. This was strong magic, for he knew the lake’s natural bottom was nowhere near so deep. The three of them waited as minutes stretched long, until Galladon began to weep for his sister and Alysanne held him close. The light of the swords’ blades flickered and faded but did not extinguish, and so Jaime strained his eyes and hoped with a ferverency he had not thought possible. 

And then from the depths she rose, the smallest blur at first but coming closer at remarkable speed. Galladon began to sing her near and Alysanne spoke words of magic, and Jaime abandoned swords and pack to reach into the water and pull her ashore, the magic sword she’d sought clutched in her hand. She trembled at her ordeal on her hands and knees, then found her way to her feet. 

Brienne stood in the moonlight, drenched in water and still shaking, a magic sword held aloft, and Ser Jaime felt he had never seen a sight so magnificent. 

*

Brienne could feel the imminent rising of the sun, and knew they must hurry if Galladon was to live. Ser Jaime felt the urgency as well, for he handed her sword and pack, and smiled with a strange sort of sadness, and it was only then that she realised she had handed him her sealskin without thought, and now he returned it.

_That would be how to win my skin_, she thought, then shook the image from her mind. 

Wielding the magic sword against the stone, she cut her way into a tunnel that led to the sea--she could feel the salt water calling her, and it led her true. The four victorious people took the path with hurried steps until they came upon the beach. 

And there she stood before Ser Jaime, the sword he had gifted her for her own protection only hours before clutched in her hands.

“You will return home?”

“I will,” she said. “To waters far away.”

He nodded in understanding. 

“I thank you,” she added, though gratitude was the least of the emotions running through her. “And return this precious sword to its rightful place at your side.”

“It is yours, my lady,” he replied, his hands--for his sword hand had returned when Cersei’s magic faded, and at least she had not cost him that--closing over hers. “It was always meant to be yours.” 

She smiled through her tears.

“Then I will keep it well,” she said. “And its twin… the magic will hold. So long as I breathe, it will be your light in darkness.”

And then he was gone, and she wished her heart did not ache so. 

At the water’s edge, Galladon and Alysanne were lost in a tight embrace, words of love being whispered between them, and her truest heart ached more, for such devotion did not deserve to be parted.

And it was then that she knew what she must do.

*

At sunset, Ser Jaime dressed as he had the past days, only remembering as he secured his sword that Brienne had returned home. There would be no selkie maiden on his shores this night, or any night to come. And then Ser Addam arrived as he had a moon before.

“The ghost has returned,” he said. “Though nobody has seen him--”

“Her,” Jaime corrected. “It was a woman.”

“Nobody has seen _her_, then, but her song is ringing up and down the beach.”

And so he left Casterly Rock in hope, and came upon a familiar shape at the water’s edge.

“I thought you were to return home?”

She turned, and he was struck by the blueness of her eyes, as he always was.

“I gave my sealskin away,” she said.

“To Alysanne.”

“Yes.”

He strode across the sand to close the distance between them, and kissed her.

“Wed me,” he murmured against her lips, “though I have not your sealskin coat.”

“I will,” she said. “For it was won with love, and so was my heart.”

* 

_On the west coast of Westeros, there stood a castle, known far and wide as Casterly Rock, overlooking the Sunset Sea. The lord of this castle was beloved by his people, but not so beloved as his lady wife. For her kindness made her beautiful in the eyes of her subjects, and her strength of body and mind and virtue made her the truest woman to ever rule the lands. Peace reigned and the lands flourished, for the value of Casterly Rock had always been in its people, and its people were as beloved as its rulers. _

_And it is said that when they were both old and grey, their grandchildren grown with children of their own, the lord and his lady walked upon the beach as they had many times before, and found two sealskins waiting upon the shore. _


End file.
